


Madonna

by Cernunnos



Category: Hanna Is Not A Boy's Name
Genre: Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, Drug Abuse, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Self-Harm, Suicide Attempt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-14
Updated: 2016-06-14
Packaged: 2018-07-14 23:59:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,003
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7196879
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cernunnos/pseuds/Cernunnos
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Time and love may not heal all wounds; some are too deep. But a second chance and the loyalty of a friend can certainly be a step in the right direction.</p><p>Sequel to 'Games People Play'.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Madonna

It was supposed to be just another routine delivery… But things were never routine when Lucy was involved. She was cold, and barely even conscious when he found her.

“Oh Jesus, Lucy… Not again!” The box of supplies hit the floor. Something shattered inside, but Lamont knew that if he didn’t do something quickly, the blonde wouldn’t be around to bitch about it later. “What did you take?!”

“Hey, Monty…”

“Lucy, what did you take?!”

She snorted, head lolling to one side as he pulled her into an upright position. “Oh, jus’ a lil’a this...lil’a that…” Her pupils were needle-like; though, it was difficult to tell much else by her drooping lids.

“Keep your eyes open. Lucy, keep them open. Tell me what you took!” He propped her up in her old desk chair just long enough to shuck his jacket. The ratty, fur-lined atrocity she so adored was already on, but as cool as she was to the touch, it wouldn’t hurt to have the extra insulation.

They had fallen shut, and though she seemed to protest, she forced them open a bit. “Mmm-Monty… Yer too fuckin’ loud,” she groaned. “I dunno… I think… Hmm…” She trailed off for a moment until her name was barked again. “Opana… That’s it. Fuckin’...Opana.”

The answer didn’t bring Lamont any great relief; though, it was at least one of the few things he knew how to help treat. Now, it was just a matter of finding the shit he needed.

“Stay awake, Lucy. Tell me where the Narcan is.” He rose to his feet and backed toward the exam room. Though he was tempted to simply wheel her along with him to keep an eye on her, he didn’t want to shake her around too much. “Where’d you put it?”

“Wot?”

“The Narcan, Lucy. Where is it?”

“Oh…” The following silence was deafening, but just before Lamont could call out to her again, she spoke. “Cabinet… No… Drawer. By the fridge…”

It was difficult not to panic, and the nervous grin that the doctor often poked fun at now appeared as more of a grimace. Gnashing his teeth, he combed over the drawer until he found the bottle - thankfully accompanied by a pack of fresh needles and syringes.

There was no time to wash his hands; though, he did attempt to keep things relatively sterile by squeezing them into an ill-fitting pair of medium nitriles. “Keep talking to me, Lucy! Why’d you take so much?” he belted out while hustling back into the ‘office’.

Her eyes were shut again, and she mumbled something unintelligible. He tried again.

“Can’t hear you, Lucy. Why’d you take so much?”

Already, he was drawing out a dose. She’d likely need more, later, but he’d learned from experience not to send her into withdrawl too quickly. There was no answer at all this time, and rather than wrestle the jacket and coat off to reach her arm, he instead knelt down to push her skirt up just enough to press the needle into her thigh.

With the injection administered, he held his wrist over her nose. Her breath was shallow, but she hadn’t entirely stopped breathing. Now, there was little else to do but watch and wait.

The clinic was quiet, and when he swore, ‘Fuck’ echoed down the hallway towards the back of the building.  
______________________________________________________________________________

“...-amn it, Lucy, I’m not a doctor. I can’t…” The voice faded in and out along with her consciousness. She tried to open her eyes, but they refused - lids sealed like steel traps until, finally, they cracked just enough to let a sliver of light in. Her lashes blurred most of what little there was to see; though, she could just barely make out something large and denim blue perched on the desk in front of her.

“...know why you keep doing this to your-... Lucy. Why…-cking tell me. …-an’t help you… ...let me, Lucy.”

Her head swiveled a bit as she tried to right it, but for the moment it seemed too heavy for her neck and so rolled forward instead.

“Hey, are you…?”

Thick fingers brushed her cheek and dipped down to grasp her chin. They were hot against her clammy skin, and for a brief moment, she was frightened.

“Lucy?”

The sudden terror receded, and she blinked - cracking her eyes open just a little more. The fingers were attached to a hand...and that hand was attached to a distinctly olive-toned arm. She didn’t remember marrying any olive-pickers.

“Hey, Monty…”  
______________________________________________________________________________

He pursed his lips - unsure of how to respond. He wanted to shout at her - chastise her for how she’d frightened him. But that never worked. She’d only lash out, and they both knew enough of the other to cut deep wounds with their words. They were both already hurt, just now. No need to make it worse.

“Hey, Lucy…”

She blinked again and squinted against the light’s fluorescent glow. Now that her vision had somewhat cleared, she could begin to make out the details of the man’s face. He looked shaken, and she could feel her gut twist a bit. Whether it was actually his expression or the Narcan, she couldn’t be sure.

“Mmm… Ya look like ya spat the dummy, Monty,” she mumbled.

“Wonder why.”

He sounded tired, and she wondered briefly how long she’d been out. The shit wasn’t out of her system yet… Couldn’t have been an hour. Lost in mulling over the time, she nearly missed hearing him speak again.

“Why’d you take so much, Lucy?”

Clutching the arms of her chair, she steeled herself a bit and leaned back to draw her head out of his hand. He was a good pal not to send her into withdrawl, but it was a bit of a dick-move to start the interrogation right away.

“Rack off with that shite… Not now.”

“Yes, now.” He turned to face her fully. “How many more times are you gonna luck out on me walking in on you before anyone can get you back?”

“Oh, it’s ‘luck’, is it? Yer my fuckin’ savior, is that right?”

It was bait. He knew it was bait, and it was very hard not to take it, because if the blonde was good at anything other than medicine, it was picking fights.

“Answer the question, Lucy.”

“It ain’t got nothin’ t’ do with ya, Monty, so back the fuck off.”

“It has everything to do with me if I’m the one walking in on you! I’m not a doctor! I shouldn’t know what Opana is! I shouldn’t know how much Narcan to give someone when they overdose! I shouldn’t have to give it to you!”

Lethargic as she was, she was growing visibly agitated - her sallow cheeks just barely pinking as she attempted to level a hard look at him. Being as things were, she only managed to prop her head back up against the chair-back again and glare.

“Piss off! It ain’t yer place t’ go gettin’ the shits jus’ cos I wanna get off my head now an’ ‘gain! Don’t play some fuckin’ knight in shinin’ armor wants a pat on the back. I ain’t asked ya t’ do a single fuckin’ thing! You’re the one wot does it yerself!”

The sudden bang of his fist on the desk’s cracked top caused her to flinch. 

“Jesus Christ, Lucy! Maybe it’s because I don’t want my _best friend_ to fucking die in a goddamn _hole_! My luck, I’ll walk in here one day and you’ll be bloated out half-eat by the rats! Is that what you want?!”

“Wot I _want_ is t’ deal with _my_ shite like _I_ want t’!”

“So what? You’re gonna numb up for good?!”

“It’s _my_ problems, Mont! _My_ pain! Not yers!”

“It is when you do this! You think this doesn’t _hurt_ me?!”

She felt her gut twist again, and this time she was relatively certain it wasn’t just the Narcan. Pursing her lips, she swiveled her head again - this time to gaze at the far wall.

“Damn it, Lucy! I want to help you, but I can’t if you won’t _let me_ …”

“LOOK AT ME! Look at me an’ tell me wot there is t’ help! I prayed t’ God fer twenny-five years t’ help me! An’ look at me! Too fucked t’ finish school! My eggs are rot! My face’s permanently beat in! I live in a fuckin’ closet an’ I scrape by stitchin’ up fuckin’ guidos gettin’ shot over petty-arse shite! If’n God couldn’t help me, wot t’ Hell makes you think you can?!”

Thin, wet trails arced down sunken cheeks, and for a moment, Lamont was too stunned to say anything in response.

“I’m broke, Monty… I’m too fuckin’ broke t’ fix. There ain’t no use in tryin’...”

“Lucy…”

“I’m tired an’ I hurt…”

“Lucy…”

“...an’ mebbe I wouldn’t mind not wakin’ up in t’ mornin’...”

“ _Lucy!_ ”

Before she could continue, she found herself being hauled up against him - her thin frame draped limp over his thick chest and torso. Shuddering, she weakly grasped at his shirt - both to soak in his warmth and to keep from sliding off when her knees inevitably buckled.

“Lucy, just stop…”

And she did. Talking, at least. The next sound that tore its way out of her throat was a broken sob muffled by its proximity to his shoulder. He did not speak - did not stop her - but instead held on tightly. What could he say or do that would fix anything? That would take away any of her pain? All he could do just then was allow her to wail her frustrations against him. He could listen.

When, after some time, her weeping had dwindled to disjointed whimpers, Lamont raised a hand to slide his fingers through her mass of cropped hair. “If you go...who’s gonna keep me from marrying all those girls Gran sets me up with?” he whispered.

She sniffled noisily and croaked, “...Ya mean...other’n yer ugly mug?”

“Heh...Yeah. Didn’t you say I deserve better?”

“...Mebbe once… When I were drunk.”

The nervous, fretful smile was creeping its way back to his face - not quite a grimace this time.

“You’re usually drunk.”

“...Wot of it?”

“If I’ve already got better, what’ll I have if you go?”

He could feel the sharp points of her nails dig into his back a bit and winced against them, but did not shy away from the discomfort.

“Monty, don’t…”

“Why not?”

“Ya know I’m… I don’t wanna ruin this, too…”

“You almost did, Lucy… But I’m still here.”

“Ya don’t want this, Monty… Ya _can’t_ …”

“I think, this time, I’d know better than you about what I want.”

Her thin lips pursed against his skin, and the nails digging into his back relaxed slightly.

“I can’t do this right now, Monty. I ain’t sober ‘nough.”

“Okay. Do you think you can handle moving upstairs? You’re still cold and you need to drink some water.”

She groaned softly. “I dunno… I’m real tired. I jus’ wanna lie down an’ my legs is all weak.”

“I never said anything about you walking,” he chided. “Compromise for the couch? I’ll bring your blankets out and you can rest.”

She nodded, and so Lamont slowly rose to his feet. Her grip on his shirt loosened slightly, and in a moment her legs crumpled beneath her. Her knees did not have a chance to strike the floor, however, when his arms rapidly slipped beneath her own to support her weight.

“I’ve got you.”

Carefully, he hauled her up again - this time slipping more of her body over his shoulder so that he could carry her properly. The stairway to her apartment would be narrow, and he was rather certain she would object to what she had once called ‘that bridal nonsense’.

“I ain’t got no sticker, but 'handle with care', eh?” she grunted, clutching at his back again.

“I always do, Lucy.”

“I know…”

Together, they ascended.


End file.
